


Silence

by CantStopImagining



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Deaf Character, Established Relationship, F/F, Family, Fluff, Future Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, ensemble fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2018-11-17 13:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11276289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantStopImagining/pseuds/CantStopImagining
Summary: This is kind of how their relationship is: like a revolving door. Casey sometimes thinks that if they actually had to spend time with one another for more than a few hours every evening (and most of that’s spent unconscious), they might not work as a couple at all. Except, that’s bitter and pessimistic, and Alex makes her not want to be either of those things, so she knows that isn’t true.Or, how Casey and Alex's newly formed relationship blossoms into something neither of them could ever have expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys I really hope you'll forgive me starting a new multi-chapter when I'm already pretty far through another, but I promise I won't be deserting MFtS for this one. I just had this idea that wouldn't leave me alone, and as such, I needed to get it out. This is set some time around s13ish. I haven't really worked out the details of that, but I don't think it matters. I hope this is an idea that interests you - it will be a case-based piece, which heavily features Alex and Casey's relationship, as well as some ensemble dynamics, though Casey is definitely the central point. I wasn't as heavy on the tags as I could have been as I didn't want to give too much away, but anything triggering is listed. The whole squad's gonna show up, so I'll add character tags as we go along, too.
> 
> (PS: I definitely stole Casey's secretary's name from someone, and I'm sorry, but I forget who to credit).

It’s almost midnight by the time the car comes to a halt outside a neat row of brownstones on the Upper East Side. It’s stopped snowing. Mushy puddles of half melted ice, the color of dishwater, crunch under Casey’s heels as she walks the path to the front foyer, smiling half-heartedly at the doorman, too exhausted to even greet him properly. She’d stayed at the office too late. Again. It’s becoming a habit, and that might have been fine when she had nothing to get home to, but that’s not the case any longer. It’s a bad routine to get out of, one that feels as natural as breathing. After the third attempt at drinking a cold cup of coffee, she’d relented and decided that the rest of her paperwork could wait until the morning.

Stifling a yawn, Casey clip-clops her way up the stone stairs to the second floor, and slides her key into the lock. It’s new and stiff, much like the pair of expensive shoes she’s currently wearing. She’s almost surprised she hadn’t automatically driven to her own neighbourhood out of habit, the route engraved in her bones.

The door is heavy, and for a second she thinks it might be bolted from the inside. She wouldn’t blame Alex for thinking she wasn’t coming, to be honest, though she thinks the blonde might just be accustomed to her work habits by now. She pushes the door harder, and it opens fully, a gust of warmth hitting Casey as soon as she steps over the threshold.

She still isn’t used to living somewhere as expensive as this apartment is. The hard wood floors require treatment every six months (she’d laughed the first time she watched Alex, dressed in an old t-shirt and denim cut-offs, her hair up in a knot, down on all fours rubbing the floor with lacquer), there are lamps that cost more than all of her own furniture put together, and the lights turn on without her even having to touch a switch (that particular party trick had caused much entertainment her first night here, punch-drunk and unbalanced on her shoes, Alex indignantly defending the new technology, before getting promptly distracted by Casey’s lips against her throat). Even the air smells expensive, a bottle of high-end room spray, thick like perfume, sitting on the hallway table, sprayed at least twice a day.

It had been intimidating to begin with, but now it’s something of a joke between them; Casey continuously trying to find the most ridiculous, unnecessary item in the building, Alex fighting to defend it.

“Al?” Casey calls, stepping out of her shoes, flexing her feet. The cold wood flooring feels heavenly against her skin after being squashed into uncomfortable heels all day.

“Mmmm,” comes the muffled response - Alex’s thinking voice - from the next room over, “I’m in here.”

Relieved that Alex is awake, Casey pads through to the lounge, feeling the weight of the day roll off of her, her body flooding with warmth. Her lips twitch up into a smile as soon as she enters the room, finding Alex sitting at the high-backed armchair in the corner of the room, working on her laptop computer. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, her skin bare behind her glasses. She’s wearing cotton pyjama pants and a thin grey sweater. Casey still feels vaguely amazed that she gets to see Alex like this: soft, undone, comfortable. Sleepy.

Her eyes go bright as she pushes her glasses up onto her head and regards Casey warmly, smiling.

“Long day?” she teases, closing her laptop, just as Casey leans in to kiss her. She tastes like red wine. Her lips are soft, and Casey hums against them, before drawing back.

“Yeah.”

It’s a blunt statement, but they’ve long since decided not to bring work home with them. This thing between them is still new. Casey agreeing to move in (if not officially) was a leap forward, but they both know how quickly the dark, twisted things they see during the day can ruin a relationship, even if they both have that in common.

“You finished for the night?” Casey asks, perching on the arm of the chair and gesturing towards Alex’s computer.

“Can be,” she says, lifting a hand to cup Casey’s jaw, Casey leaning into it, the movement familiar and catlike.

Casey lifts the computer off her lap, placing it gently on the side table, and slipping herself into the space it vacates, though most of her weight stays on the chair’s arm. Kissing her again, lazily, Alex’s hands circle her waist, untucking her blouse, soft fingertips running over her skin like velvet. Not for the first time, Casey scolds herself for not hurrying back to this, for allowing her work to once again consume her, instead of Alex. Sure, justice might be significant, weighted, important… but she’s beginning to realise that Alex Cabot is pretty damn important too.

-

She sleeps through her alarm.

It isn’t the first time it’s happened, but she still feels vaguely panicked as she wakes to Alex leaning over her, blonde hair tickling at her sternum, and realises that she’s dressed, ready to head out of the door, and Casey’s still in bed.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” she grumbles, sliding out of bed and rubbing at her eyes, though not with a hint of malice.

"I tried, you sleep like a log,” Alex says, a hint of playfulness in her eyes, perfectly glossed lips turning up into a smirk, “anyway, I checked your calendar; you’re not missing anything. Marla’s got your first meeting down as 9.30. Plenty of time.”

Alex disrupts her path to the bathroom, kissing her first on the mouth, and then on the top of her head (she’s wearing heels and stands an inch above Casey) before sending her on her way.

“I’ll see you later. Try not to come home too late,” she says to the closed bathroom door, and Casey hears her laugh at the grunt she gets in response.

This is kind of how their relationship is: like a revolving door. Casey sometimes thinks that if they actually had to spend time with one another for more than a few hours every evening (and most of that’s spent unconscious), they might not work as a couple at all. Except, that’s bitter and pessimistic, and Alex makes her not want to be either of those things, so she knows that isn’t true. Their schedules line up, sometimes: a working lunch here, a chance to go for breakfast there. They cross paths at work, of course, but keep it professional. Sometimes they even manage to spend all of Saturday together, though they seldom leave the bedroom if they do. It’s nice… normal. A concept that’s still sort of foreign to Casey, whose last serious relationship ended shortly after law school.

By the time she’s showered and her hair’s dry and she’s found a clean blouse and skirt, she has to race her way through the New York traffic to get to work in time for her meeting. It isn’t a big deal: a pre-trial witness prep. Not even a key witness. But still, she hates being late, hates not being able to prepare herself, knows this is going to put her in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

As if that’s not bad enough, Olivia Benson is waiting for her when she arrives.

“I have a meeting in five, Liv,” Casey warns, striding into her office and putting her attache onto her desk, unzipping it in a smooth, fluid motion, and beginning to remove the contents.

“I won’t take up much of your time, then. I need a warrant.”

Glancing at her, Casey frowns, “can it wait til after this witness prep? I’m rushed off my feet here.”

“Sure,” Olivia tells her, hands buried deep in the pockets of her leather jacket, “the Michaels case?”

Casey hums her response, shuffling her papers into order, before finally shrugging out of her jacket and laying it over the back of her chair, “the mom of one of the kids. Shouldn’t take long. An hour tops? What do I need to know about this warrant?”

“Info’s all here. Pretty straightforward,” Olivia pushes the form across Casey’s desk. She reaches for it and skim-reads it, before shifting it to a pile.

“Cool, I’ll see what I can do. Call you in about an hour?”

Smiling her thanks, Olivia touches her arm briefly before leaving, almost colliding with Marla in the doorway, there to announce that her witness has arrived.

-

It is a straightforward warrant. Solid evidence linking suspect to scene of crime, lack of alibi, reason to search apartment. Yada yada yada. Casey could talk a judge into signing it over in her sleep. She gets it done, and then heads over to the precinct to deliver it herself, finding a lull in her work schedule after-all. She’s interested to be filled in on the squad’s latest case, anyway, so it doesn’t seem like a wasted trip. So far, all she knows is it’s a rape-robbery, the suspect a junkie whose fingerprints were found on the knife left at the scene. Casey doubts she’ll have much work to put in for this particular case - it seems fairly clear cut - but often those cases can be surprising. She likes to keep on top of her future workload.

As she walks into 1PP, she does a 360, turning straight back around to follow Olivia, who is walking two-steps at a time down to her car, Nick Amaro at her side.

“I’ve got you that warrant,” Casey calls after them, struggling to keep up in her less than practical shoes.

“Great,” Olivia says, “we’ve just got called into a commotion in the same building. You feel like tagging along?”

Nick’s already sliding into the car as Casey shrugs, nodding. He reaches through to the seat behind him, and unlocks the safety lock.

“Sure, why not,” she says, though her hand’s already on the handle of the car door.

They drive with sirens, a rarity when it comes to this unit. Olivia fills her in on the details as Amaro weaves his way through the thick traffic, cars struggling to get out of his way. They mount the sidewalk twice. The call of complaint is from the same floor as their perp, two doors over. Arguing, followed by gunshots. Called in by a concerned neighbour just a few minutes ago, and Olivia had taken it because she’d recognised the address, even before a uniformed unit could respond.

“Think it’s related?” Casey asks, as the car swings violently around another corner.

“There’s been a number of rapes on the same block. His MO’s usually a knife, but maybe he escalated.”

The car screeches to a halt outside the apartment building, and Liv’s out of the car before it’s even really stopped. Casey gets out and follows, leaving a fair distance between them. It’s not usual for ADAs to get wrapped up in stuff on the streets, but she’s become pretty accustomed to getting her hands dirty since being assigned to SVU. They don’t always follow protocol. That’s why they get results.

Olivia draws her weapon, mirror-imaging Amaro on the other side. They crouch as they start up the stairs, gesturing silently to one another, and Casey follows the conversation with her eyes, holding back behind them. Maybe she should have waited in the car. Eventually, they make it to the right apartment, book-ending the door with their guns lowered to their sides.

“NYPD, OPEN UP,” Amaro yells, banging on the door with the nose of his gun.

There’s no sound from inside, though several of the neighbours down the hallway stick their heads out, and a baby is screaming down the other end of the corridor. Nick knocks again, then, when there’s no response, gestures for Olivia to back up from the door.

From a legal point of view, whether they have reason to break in is a grey area, but Casey stays quiet.

Nick runs at full-force against the door, hitting it squarely with his shoulder, and the hinges creak at the impact. He pushes again, and the door swings open. Weapon by his side, he heads slowly in, Olivia following suit.  
Casey stays in the hallway.

“Living room clear,” Olivia calls, and then, from the other direction, Nick’s voice echoes hers, clearing the kitchen.

Peering in, Casey sees the living area in disarray, the television missing from its brackets, only the wiring left behind; a coffee table turned over; a lamp smashed on the dirty rug in front of the couch.

“Got a body,” Amaro calls from the left, “no sign of the shooter.”

Casey walks towards the open door on the right, sees Olivia hunched over a child’s bed, the whole room a patchwork of pinks and lilacs, teddy bears with their stuffing blown out lined across one wall shelf, a toy chest and a dolls house underneath.

“Got a second body in here,” Olivia says, softly, her voice laced with sadness.

Amaro walks in, and there’s blood down the front of his shirt, his sleeves rolled up. His gun’s back in its holster.

“Who shoots a little girl at point-blank range in the head?” Liv murmurs, looking down at the child’s body. She doesn’t look like she can be any older than eight or nine.

“Mom’s in the bedroom. Took two to the head, and one to the chest. This look like the work of a deranged junkie to you?”

Olivia shakes her head, “no, and these bodies don’t look fresh either.”

A noise from the closet suddenly draws all their attention to the corner of the room. Raising his weapon, Nick gestures for Olivia to move back, then Casey, pointing to the exit. She does as she’s told, backing away into the doorway as he reaches for the closet door. A second later, he flings the door open, his gun still aimed into the small closet. As soon as he’s pulled back the meagre row of clothes, though, he quickly holsters his weapon, and Olivia leaps into action.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says, kneeling down in front of the closet, pushing her own weapon back into the clip on her hip, “it’s okay, you’re okay. My name’s Olivia… I’m going to help you.”  


Casey instinctively finds herself moving closer, standing just behind Olivia and peering down into the darkness of the closet. A little girl - younger than the victim - is sitting amongst the clothes, shivering, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. As Olivia tries to get close, she starts to rock, making an unintelligible sound.

“It’s okay sweetheart, it’s alright,” Olivia soothes, but the child only moves away from her.

Something clicks into place in Casey’s head, and she finds herself reaching for Olivia, telling her to let her have a go.

Olivia, who still isn’t 100% thrilled to have Casey back working with the unit, not that she’d say as much, scoffs, shooting her a look like she’d forgotten the attorney was even still in the room. Still, she moves away, letting Casey crouch down next to her. Casey meets the little girl’s eyes, searching her briefly, then smiling softly as she raises her hands to the girl’s eye-level, and starts to sign.

“ _Hello, I’m Casey,_ ” she signs, speaking softly at the same time. She takes care to spell out her name slowly. The little girl looks curiously at her, dark eyes wide with fear, then stops rocking, “ _what’s your name?_ ”

For a second, she thinks her hunch isn’t right, but then, slowly, the little girl raises shaky, chubby hands, and signs back: _my name’s Ana._

Casey’s vaguely aware of Olivia behind her, of Nick whispering ‘did you know she could do that?’ and Liv shaking her head, but her focus is completely on the child.

_“Hey, Ana. I know you’re really scared, but we’re not going to hurt you. How old are you, Ana?”_

She waits for a response, then twists to look at Olivia, “she’s only six.”

 _“Will you come out here, so we can care for you?”_ Casey signs, continuing to speak along aloud for the detectives’ benefits.

Ana hesitates before nodding, holding her arms out to Casey in a gesture that she assumes means she wants to be picked up. Despite having a bunch of nieces and nephews, Casey’s always been terrible with kids, but she gets the gist, leaning into the small closet and scooping the terrified little girl out, holding her shaking form close to her body, and turning to the detectives. Ana buries her face in her hair, and Casey can feel her tears as they fall steadily against the skin of her neck.

-


	2. Chapter 2

There aren’t any obvious signs of injury, but Olivia calls for a bus anyway, at the same time that Nick calls the ME’s office. Ana clings to Casey, refusing to be put down, even once they’re out in the hallway. Her tawny-colored fists are almost white with how tightly they’re grasped around Casey’s blouse, her face buried in Casey’s collar bone, hidden behind a thick curtain of dark, unruly hair.

“I’ll come with her to the station,” Casey tells Liv, turning so Ana is protected from the stares of her neighbours.

“Good. Hopefully child services will be able to send a translator, but it would be good to have you there just in case,” she pauses her sweeping look of the area, dark eyes settling on Casey, “I didn’t know you knew how to sign.”

Olivia doesn’t speak like she’s impressed, or intrigued even. There’s a hint of suspicion in her voice, instead, and Casey is reminded yet again that they’re no longer on a level playing field, that Olivia still doesn’t trust her, despite the fact they’ve worked together for years.

“My mom’s deaf - I grew up with ASL,” she explains, adjusting her grip on the six-year-old.

“How did you know Ana was deaf?”

“I didn’t… it was a hunch. The noises she was making, the rocking. I’ve seen it before.”

Clearly done with this line of questioning, Olivia nods, moving across the hallway to greet Melinda Warner as she turns around the corner, a team of SOCOs behind her. Casey looks down at Ana - the top of her head - and sighs. She’s eager for them to get out of here. Who knows what the poor child had to see; she doesn’t need to be here whilst the police go over her home with a fine tooth comb, talking about her mother and sister in statistics and theories. Sure, she might not understand, might not be able to work out what anybody's saying, but in some ways that’s probably scarier.

“Novak? The medics are here.”

Casey nods towards Amaro, just as Ana moves, leaning her torso away from Casey so she can see her face. Her eyes are wide, scared. Balancing her with one arm around her waist, Casey uses the other to sign. It’s a struggle to do one handed, but she hates not being able to talk to her.

“ _It’s okay, you’re okay,_ ” she signs, and Ana looks down, away from her, long eyelashes still glistening with tears.

-

By the time they make it back to the station, child services has sent over a translator, and they’re ready and waiting in the child witness room. After being checked over, and cleared to leave, Ana had refused to get into the car without Casey. She’d been reluctant to sit with the medic in the back of the bus, too, so it was hardly surprising that she didn’t want to travel without her either. Casey had called back to the office and had Marla cancel her appointments for the day, grateful that she wasn’t needed in court.

Once they arrive, though, it’s clear that prior engagements aren’t all she has to worry about.

“All due respect, Miss Novak, it’s not usual for a prosecutor to be in the room with a child witness,” Sue Stein from child services, with her neatly cropped blonde hair, and ill-fitting suit is every bit as condescending as Casey is used to dealing with, though she rarely gets involved in this area of a case, “you’re not exactly renown for being sensitive towards children on the stand, either.”

“I think there’s some extraordinary circumstances in this case,” Olivia defends, unexpectedly, “Casey has a connection with Ana, Ana trusts her.”

She hates that they’re having this conversation about the little girl in her presence, as if just because she can’t hear them, she isn’t there, but Casey stands her ground. As soon as she dips to set Ana down, the girl starts to panic, clinging onto her.

“ _Don’t worry, I’m not leaving you,_ ” Casey signs, smiling softly. Ana lifts her eyes to her and stares, lip trembling, then signs her response.

“What did she say?” Liv murmurs.

“She’s scared. She doesn’t want to go. _It’s okay, sweetheart, you don’t have to be scared. You’re not going anywhere._ ”

Exhaling a sharp breath, Sue Stein relents. So long as Casey lets the translator speak for Ana, she can sit in the interview room.

-

“I don’t feel good about this,” Casey says, pacing the short space between her desk and the door to her office, the phone pressed tight under her cheek.

“There’s nothing we can do, Casey. It’s up to child services to temporarily re-home her, not us.”

She knows Olivia’s right, but that doesn’t stop the anger from boiling over, “she watched her sister and mother get raped and murdered, Liv, she was so terrified she hid in a closet for hours. And what, child services can’t be bothered to find her a home where she might actually be able to _converse_ with literally _anyone_ in it?”

They’d spent an hour in the child witness room, watching Ana scribble with crayons and play with dolls. She’d been hesitant to tell them what happened, wouldn’t let the translator speak to her, only wanted to talk to Casey. Eventually, they’d got got enough scraps of information to know that she had seen what happened to her sister, watched as a man climbed on top of her, almost suffocating her, before shooting her in the head when he was done. Her mom had already been left dying in the next room.

She’d cried when Casey had to leave, even after she promised to come back and see her the next day.

“They don’t have any ASL foster parents available. They’re temporarily homing her until they do.”

“After everything she’s been through, don’t you think she deserves to at least be with somebody who can meet her basic needs, Liv?” Casey says, her voice almost cracking. She doesn’t want to cry, but this case is bringing up so many memories that it’s hard not to.

“You know I agree with you, but the system doesn’t always work that way.”

Casey sighs. Yes, she knows that, too. It’s just… infuriating.

“Where are we at with suspects?” she asks instead, sitting down on the edge of her desk. She’s spent most of the afternoon working on other cases, though everything’s taken longer than usual, her mind elsewhere. Alex had asked if she’d be around for lunch, but she’d worked right through her usual break.

“Warner’s got DNA from semen on the sister’s nightgown, waiting to see if it’s a match to anyone on the system. There’s not much else to go on. Mariel came here from the Philippines when she was 19 - eleven years ago. Worked mostly nights in a cafe in Queens. Rollins and Fin went over there, questioned the staff. They hadn’t noticed anybody suspicious lurking around, couldn’t think of anyone who would have a bad word to say about her. We’ve got nowhere trying to track down Ana’s father - there’s no name on the birth certificate, same for Nichole. Neighbours don’t remember a boyfriend coming round, and the girls were never left with a sitter. It’s mostly all dead ends - hoping we’ll get something off the DNA. Rollins and Amaro are at Nichole’s school. Ana was home-schooled.”

Chewing her lip, Casey nods, just as a familiar face appears around her door, “okay, keep me updated.”

Just the sight of Alex, slipping into the office whilst balancing two travel cups of coffee, a wide smile on her face, immediately melts some of the stress and tension in Casey’s body. She radiates warmth. It’s crazy considering their relationship was half-born out of frustration with each other, crackling between them like electricity, starting out hot and heavy and rough. Casey had never expected to end up thinking of her as home. Comfortable.

“You look like you need the extra shot I got you,” Alex says, looking concerned as she nudges the door closed with her hip, “did you skip lunch?”

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Casey takes her coffee gratefully, pausing to inhale a long sip of it, “I had a granola bar,” she mumbles, setting the cup down beside her.

Alex closes the distance between them, putting her own cup down right next to Casey’s, and leaning into her. Casey breathes her in, momentarily forgetting where they are, and letting Alex step between her legs, cradling her face in her hands. They kiss, softly, and it’s so different from how they did when this all began - right here on this very desk in fact - that Casey can’t help but smile against Alex’s lips at the memory.

“What?” Alex says, pulling away.

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

Blue eyes glittering with mischief and wonder, Alex tangles one hand in Casey’s hair, searching her face, “oh yeah, about what?”

Casey tilts her head, smiling, her hands coming to rest on Alex’s lower back, “about you, mostly.”

“Mmmmhmmm, that’s good to hear,” Alex breathes, leaning in to kiss her again, deeper this time. She strokes Casey’s cheek bone with her thumb, the other hand pressed against the desk for leverage. 

Eventually, though, Casey has to pull back, leaving Alex looking crestfallen if not a little dishevelled. She presses one last kiss against her lips, then moves away.

“How’s your day been?” Alex asks, casually, as though nothing happened. She’s playing with a paperweight Casey keeps on her desk, a round and shiny dome that was a present from Donnelly, which is the only reason she kept it. She sort of hates it otherwise.

Casey sighs. Nice as it was to take a brief break from worrying about Ana, she feels guilty for pushing her concern aside so easily, knowing how scared and alone the little girl must be feeling. She wishes she’d at least stayed for the handover, but then she’d probably have got herself thrown off the case for getting aggressive with the caseworker. Which wouldn’t have helped anybody, least of all Ana.

“Hard,” she eventually says, frowning, “I know we don’t talk about work but…”

“Is it the rape-homicide Liv’s working?” Alex asks, and Casey should have known she’d be clued in. She nods, worrying her bottom lip again. “Sounds nasty,” Alex says, simply, though she looks concerned.

“Did I ever tell you my mom’s deaf?” Casey says, after a moment of heavy silence. Alex shakes her head. “She had meningitis as a teenager, and lost her hearing. I grew up with it; to begin with, I didn’t even realise she was any different from anyone else. We all learnt how to sign, as well as we learnt how to read or write. I distinctly remember the day I realised that she couldn’t hear, that that was why we had to sign to her - we used sign language for everything, even to talk to each other, to talk to my Dad - I started school and kids made fun of me for signing. I wasn’t deaf, but I suddenly understood what it was like to be different. I spent years having nightmares where I’d wake up and not be able to hear anything. The silence was terrifying to me, as a kid.”

Alex looks like she doesn’t know how to respond, leaning against the desk, her hands folded in her lap. She reaches across and takes Casey’s hand, knotting their fingers together, squeezing.

“Ana - the little deaf girl who survived the shooting - she’s been different her whole life, and as if that hasn’t been enough of a burden on her, she witnesses her family being raped and murdered. I just… sometimes I think there’s only so much I can do to help these people, and I hate it. How many cases do we try, and then we just never even think about the victims again? We get their rapist or murderer or abuser sent away - or sometimes, we don’t. _Often,_ we don’t. And then that’s it. That’s our part in it done.”

“We speak for the victims who can’t,” Alex says softly, “we make sure somebody is forced to answer for what they did. Even if we don’t always get the result we want, we try. We don’t let victims go forgotten.”

Casey turns to her, and she can feel tears building in her eyes, threatening to spill over, “but what happens after the trial? They _do_ go forgotten.”

-


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry this story fell off the face of the earth. I’m really bad at juggling multiple multi-chap stories but since MFTS is winding down, I thought I’d do a little work on this one at the same time. Thank you, as always, for your patience and your reviews.

For the first time in a long time, Casey leaves work early, finding herself arriving at Alex’s apartment before the blonde has even left the office. Sighing, she sinks into the couch without so much as taking off her outdoor coat, or scarf. Despite spending most of her day in her office, going over paperwork, she feels well and truly drained. Emotionally, more than physically.

Olivia had called several more times that evening. First, to tell her that the sister’s school hadn’t given them anything. Then, to confirm that the DNA they’d found had not been a match to the junkie rapist, their original perp. As of yet, it hadn’t been linked to anybody. Still, it was early days.

Sitting in her office with all the blinds drawn, Marla screening her calls, had been stifling. Eventually, the only option had been to leave. She needed to clear her head. It was no good going over paperwork for other cases; she was so distracted, she’d only make mistakes that would cause her more work in the future. Besides, it wasn’t fair to the victims, to give them anything less than her full attention. Marla had looked surprised when Casey told her she was leaving early, heading out into the thick snow that was once again settling on the sidewalks and roads, moving automatically towards the only place she wanted to be.

Eventually, Casey drags herself off the couch and slips out of her coat, hanging it on a hook in the hallway, then heading to the kitchen, lights coming on as she moves through the apartment. Now, she thinks, dryly, I see the benefit of them. She grabs a footed glass out of the cupboard, and a bottle of bourbon, and pours herself a generous amount, taking a sip before she’s even left the room. On second thoughts, she takes the bottle with her, back into the living room.

Her mind drifts automatically back to the three years she’d spent suspended. Aside from her surroundings, there’s something familiar about this scenario; curled up on the couch with a bottle, anything to stop her thoughts spiralling back to what a mess she’d made. It had been a dark few months, before she’d realised that drowning in self-pity wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She’d read practically a library’s worth of law books, not to mention all the random classes she’d taken (yes, she could now make a basic coffee table from scratch, no she hadn’t felt the need for that skill since). She’d provided legal consult for various charities in that time, too. It had finally put her back onto the track she needed to be on. It had been an uphill struggle, but she’d made it.

Casey pours herself a second glass, then trudges back to the kitchen with the bottle. This isn’t a rabbit’s hole she wants to fall back down.

It’s only when she hears Alex’s key in the door, that Casey realises how long she’s been curled up there, mulling over the day’s events. At some point, she’s shifted so she’s lying across the length of the couch. Alex’s voice drifts in from the hallway, and Casey immediately feels ten times better. She wonders, briefly, when that feeling will wear off, if ever. The warmth, the anticipation. She hopes it never does.

“Hello, you,” Alex greets, moving over to the couch and kissing the top of her head. Casey smiles up at her, suddenly not feeling quite so exhausted, “you alright?”

“Better for seeing you.”

Alex shrugs out of her coat, draping it over the back of the arm chair, and perching on the arm of the couch, next to Casey’s head. Her eyes drift to the empty glass on the coffee table, but she says nothing. Casey shifts, resting her head in Alex’s lap. As the blonde’s fingers work through tangles in her hair, Casey sighs, letting her eyes slip closed.

“I’m not in court until the afternoon tomorrow. Fancy going for lunch?” Alex asks, her voice soft.

Casey lifts her head a little to look at her, “I’m going to visit Ana at her foster home,” she says, her voice thick with exhaustion, “I’m sorry, maybe we could do a late dinner, though?”

“Mmmm, okay,” Alex threads her fingers through Casey’s hair, combing it through absentmindedly. If she’s annoyed, she doesn’t show it, but Casey still feels guilty. What was that about not putting work before Alex? This is different, though. She knows that.

Casey presses her lips against Alex’s knee, then lays her cheek on the same spot, “did you have a good day?” she asks, the rhythm of Alex’s fingers against her scalp making her even sleepier.

“Yeah. Back to back arraignments, but they went well. Good results.”

“Of course, they had the best ADA working on them,” Casey says, smiling.

Laughing softly, Alex strokes along her jawline, “you’re cute when you’re tired.”

Casey wrinkles her nose, scrunching her face in protest, but when Alex leans down to kiss her, she doesn’t resist. Alex’s face is cold, her nose rubbing against Casey’s, forcing her to stifle a giggle, and then the kiss deepens, and Casey melts into her. For a moment, she allows herself to let go of everything that’s happened today, and focus on this. On nothing but Alex.

-

When Casey arrives at the office, there’s a post-it note on her desk from Olivia, with an address scribbled on it. Casey carefully slips the paper into her purse, before getting on with her daily routine: checking through her emails with a cup of coffee, going over her daily planner. Her schedule is pretty full with stuff for the Michaels trial, which starts tomorrow, but she has an hour 15 break from 1. That should be long enough. Especially since they’ll be expecting her.

Pushing Ana from her mind, Casey focuses on the child molestation trial coming up. As soon as she begins re-reading over the case details (as if they aren’t already fully cemented in her head), it’s easy to give these victims her full attention. Three girls under the age of 10, raped by their school janitor for a period stretching over a year. The evidence is fairly conclusive, but that doesn’t always mean an easy trial, especially one involving young kids. She’d need to be on her A-game. Of course, she’s already spent weeks working through her trial strategy, compiling all of the information on both the perp and the three girls, their family lives, the school… anything that might come up. But with multiple cases going on at once, it’s always good to re-familiarise yourself with all the material.

After forty minutes of sorting through paperwork, she packs it away into her attache, and heads out of the office. She has an appointment with Elizabeth Donnelly, followed by another witness prep, and a meeting with the defence. In amongst all of that, she wants to check in with SVU, to get up to speed on their current cases. It’s going to be a long day of bits and pieces; the kind Casey dislikes most of all. She’d rather be in court solidly than be darting from place to place, spreading her time across various cases and tedious meetings.

Then again, at least it allows her time to go out, which trial days do not.

By some miracle, none of her appointments run over - Donnelly is in a good mood, but rushed for time; her witness arrives early, and leaves early; and even though her meeting with Kressler is long and tedious, it somehow ends on time (most probably because he’s more concerned about getting lunch than getting his client off). At one on the dot, Casey’s in her car, and driving over to Fort Greene. She pauses only to shoot Alex a text message, finalising dinner plans, not waiting for a response.

She doesn’t know what she’s expecting, but the residential unit she parks in front of isn’t quite it. Despite having it memorised, she checks the address again, and sure enough, this is it. The building looks like it’s on the verge of crumbling, the windows like they haven’t been cleaned in months. This place really passed all of children’s services’ checks?

As soon as she presses the buzzer for the right number, there’s a scurry of feet on stairs, and the sound of a baby crying inside. Casey had had every intention of going into this with an open mind - after all, it isn’t the foster home’s fault that no ASL home is available to Ana - but she can feel her patience wearing thinner by the second. When the door opens, the woman on the other side is holding a baby on her hip, and trying to hold onto a three or four year old as well, who looks about ready to escape. Mrs Hernandez appears to be in her late thirties, with springy ringlets of chestnut hair, which the baby is playing with happily. She looks frazzled, overworked, but kind.

“Hi, you must be Miss Novak. Come on in.”

The inside of the building is far more homely than the outside, and warm air envelopes Casey as soon as she steps inside. The hallway is nicely wallpapered, and Mrs Hernandez leads her through to a sitting room, where the sunshine yellow walls look only recently painted, and framed illustrations adorn the walls. A large rug takes up a large amount of the floor space, spotted with toys which the toddler returns to playing with, as Mrs Hernandez takes a seat on a plush-looking arm chair, gesturing for Casey to take the couch. Through an archway, she can see into a bright, clean kitchen.

“I was glad to hear you were coming, Miss Novak,” Mrs Hernandez bounces the baby on her lap as she speaks, frowning slightly, “Ana has proved to be a… difficult child to settle. I’ve been trying my best, but… without being able to communicate with her…”

“I understand,” Casey says, swallowing down the sick feeling in her gut.

“We haven’t been able to get Ana out of her bedroom. I tried getting her to write things down, but at her age… it’s hard. ACS assures me they’re looking for a more… suitable home for her, but you know how it is.”

Casey nods. Of course she knows; ACS workers are overworked and underpaid. Foster homes are filled to capacity, and children slip through the cracks all the time. Casey knows that better than most, having prosecuted cases involving foster children multiple times. It isn’t anybody’s fault; it’s just how it is. Most of these children get forgotten about as soon as they’re in the system. She won’t let that happen to Ana.

“May I see Ana?”

“Of course, of course. Come on up, I’ll show you to her room,” she turns to the little boy playing with building bricks on the rug, “Luca, come with me upstairs please.”

He peels himself away from his toys, looking dejected, but obediently follows them upstairs.

-

Even hours later, when Casey’s on her way to meet Alex for dinner, she can’t quite shake the memory of Ana lying miserably in the bottom bunk of a bed, wrapped in a blanket, crying softly. She’d brightened significantly when she saw Casey, and they’d talked for a short while, Casey even persuading her to eat some food, but as soon as it had come time for her to go, the little girl had clinged to her, crying. It had been so hard, walking away from her. Casey had sat outside in her car, in tears, trying to compose herself for a good ten minutes before she could attempt the drive back to the office.

She knows she’s too emotionally involved in this case, but recusing herself now is not an option.

Not that they’re getting anywhere with the case so far, anyway. They don’t even have any suspects.

Pulling her car into an empty spot outside the restaurant - a miracle in itself - Casey cuts the engine and pulls down the overhead mirror, quickly checking her hair and make-up. She’s determined to push Ana out of her head, at least for a few hours. Alex deserves to have her full attention.

Alex had insisted on taking her to Estiatorio Milos, the Greek seafood restaurant she’d taken Casey to back when things were just starting to become official, despite there not being any occasion to celebrate. It’s pricy, and Casey knows Alex will insist on paying the bill, but she still feels mildly self-conscious heading into the swanky building in the same clothes she wore all day at work. She’s running slightly late, so Alex is already inside, perusing the menu, as if she isn’t going to order the same thing she always orders.

She lifts her head, beaming at Casey as she approaches the table, folding her menu closed. She’s wearing the same wine-coloured long-sleeve dress she wore to work, the cut of it perfectly accentuating her figure, and her long, toned legs. Her hair’s down, swept over one shoulder. Casey looks at her for a long moment, drinking her in, and truly doesn’t know how she got to be so lucky.

Pulling out a chair, she sits down opposite Alex, and picks up the menu, “hi, sorry I’m late.”

“It’s alright,” Alex tells her, reaching across the table to stroke the back of her hand with the pad of her thumb, “help yourself to wine. How are you doing?”

Casey sighs deeply, contentedly, expressing her gratitude through a smile at Alex as she pours herself a glass - the same wine they ordered the first time they came here, she notes - and gulps down a large mouthful. 

“You’re more than I deserve,” she says, replacing her wine glass.  
Alex shakes her head, threading their fingers together, just as the waiter comes to take their orders.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst angst and more angst...

“No news?”

Olivia looks up from her desk, and offers Casey a wry smile. Behind her, the evidence board has more names crossed out than the day before, suspects eliminated, leads that have taken them nowhere.

“Fin and Amanda’s visit to the ex-boyfriend came up empty,” Olivia confirms, “rock solid alibi.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, Casey nods. Instead of meeting Olivia’s gaze, she’s staring at the photograph of Ana and her sister that’s taped to the middle of the board. She’s barely recognisable as the child Casey had visited a few days before, squeezing her older sister tight and grinning at the camera. It makes Casey’s heart ache, and eventually she has to look away. It’s only then that she realises Olivia has joined her, standing just to her right.

“Child services are still trying to find her a deaf friendly home but you know what their waiting list is like,” Olivia says, softly. It’s almost the same voice she uses to speak with victims.

Casey nods, swallowing the lump in her throat and forcing a smile, “I know… I just wish there was something else we could do.”

She knows Olivia, more than anybody else, empathises. There’s no point in her trying to push for anything else to be done; if there was anything they could do, Liv would have already done it. She just hates feeling so useless.

“I’ll call if there’s any new leads,” the detective tells her, squeezing her shoulder, and the brief moment of contact catches her off guard. Then again, they always were closest when Casey let her guard down. Liv knows more about her than the rest of the unit combined... and yet, she still hasn’t come clean about moving in with Alex. But the reasoning behind that is... well, complicated. And it’s probably something Alex should get to do, not Casey.

She smiles, “Thanks, Liv.”

-

Marla is on the phone when Casey gets back to her office. They exchange smiles by way of a greeting, and Casey slips into her office, fully prepared to flop in her chair for a little while before she’s ready to get on with any work. It’s been a tough week. She knows she’s not been on her A-game. It’s not surprising that she practically jumps out of her skin when she closes the door and turns around to find someone at her desk. She eases up almost immediately, rolling her eyes at the blonde, who is chuckling away at her.

“I wonder if I could bribe Steve in Security to release that five seconds of video tape to me so I can rewatch it forever,” Alex smirks, her face lit up in that way it only ever does for Casey, “you leapt about six inches off the ground.”

“I did not,” Casey bites back, slipping out of her suit jacket and tossing it onto the couch. She’s about to join it, when she thinks better of it. There’s something bizarre about sitting on your couch whilst somebody else sits at your desk. She perches on the edge of the desk, instead, she and Alex’s positions the opposite to usual.

“It was very cute,” Alex purrs, and even when Casey’s mad at her, she can feel her insides melt at the dazzling look the blonde gives her.

Crossing her arms, Casey shrugs off the semi-compliment - she’s not up for explaining for the nth time why she is most definitely ~not~ a person you can describe as cute - and squints across at Alex. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be in court still.”

Alex smiles, leaning back in the chair, her eyes slipping closed. “Early recess. The defence is stalling because they have nothing.” She smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling, before she blinks them open, “I thought we could go for dinner if you have no plans...?”

Casey raises her eyebrows. She can’t help but feel like Alex is being more and more daring these days; taking her out for dinner last night, and now lunch, here in the office, where anybody could see them. Their days of sneaking around seem long behind them.

“Oh did you now? And I feel like you already know I have no plans or you wouldn’t be here.”

Alex’s lips quirk into as close as Alex Cabot comes to a grin, and she leans across, absently playing with Casey’s fingers, where her hand is resting against the desk. “Guilty.”

Checking her watch, Casey frowns, “I’ve only got 25 minutes. But we could grab a quick coffee and a bagel?”

The smile on Alex’s face falters only a little, and she kisses her, sweet and gentle, drawing back only at the loud knock on the door behind them. Casey bites her lip, quickly standing, right as Alex swivels the chair away.

“Come in.”

Marla is almost comically short in comparison to the two women already present in the room, her petite frame and mousey auburn hair disguising the fire cracker personality they both know she has. Her dark eyes are sharp as a pin, though, and easily readable as she looks between the two of them, a slight hint of suspicion visible on her face. She’s known both of them for many years, since Alex started at the DA’s office, so it’s hardly a surprise that she knows them so well. Casey immediately blushes under her scrutiny.

“Sorry to interrupt,” each of her words is weighted, the way a teacher speaks to a child. “I’ve got Captain Cragen on the line. He said it’s urgent.”

Alex practically deflates with disappointment, even if it is only in small movements, the way her mouth twitches, how her eyes look away. It’s only visible for a second.

“Let’s put a pin in that case review then shall we?” she says, her voice artificially bright.

“Sorry,” Casey murmurs, her mind already working a mile a minute, wondering what new development could be so important that the captain himself would call her. Alex gives her a lingering look before slipping out of the room, only pausing to nod in Marla’s direction on the way out.

If Marla suspects something, she doesn’t say as much. Casey takes a deep breath, before picking up her phone.

“Captain Cragen... sorry to have kept you waiting. What can I do for you?”

-

She’s out of breath by the time she gets to the front of the building, like aside from sprinting here from the car, she might have held her breath the whole drive over here, too. Under normal circumstances, she’d be embarrassed. It’s not like Casey to be this out of shape, but she’s not really found time in her routine for her usual runs or bike rides. Still, that’s unimportant.

The scene is swarming with police officers, crime scene investigators, people who are probably from the press... even a few people from neighbouring houses. It’s not unusual. Of course, Casey doesn’t find herself at crime scenes all that often, usually dealing with the consequences from the comfort of her office, photographs of hideous murder scenes the closest she gets to the real thing, but she has seen her fair share close-up. Somehow, this one makes her blood run cold in a way that even Ana’s family’s apartment hadn’t.

That’s because it’s worse when it’s somewhere you’ve been. Somewhere you know. Somewhere that you yourself might have led the killer to.

Casey feels tears gathering in her eyes, and blinks them back. She has to look at this from a law perspective, no matter how personal it might feel.

Detective Rollins is leaning against a dark blue sedan in front of the building, smoking. She’s the first person Casey recognises, and quickly moves towards her. The blonde detective stubs out the cigarette as soon as she acknowledges her, looking embarrassed at being caught.

“Bad habit but...” she shrugs her shoulders, and it’s hard to miss the haunted expression on her face, the ashen shade to her skin.

Casey swallows.

“As long as it’s your only one,” Casey jokes, weakly, and Amanda’s mouth turns up into the briefest of smiles.

“The cap’n call you in?”

She nods, “I’m not sure he was expecting me to actually come out here but... I needed to see it for myself.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Amanda says, no hint of humour left in her voice. “How anyone can do that to a tiny baby... I just don’t understand.”

A sick feeling twists itself into a knot in Casey’s throat as she thinks back to that giggly, chubby, beautiful baby girl that Mrs Hernandez had been bouncing on her lap just three days ago, the last time Casey was here. She thinks of the well-behaved little boy and his toy trucks, playing quietly on the carpet whilst they talked about things he was too young to understand.

She thinks of Ana, and her eyes threaten to well all over again.

“How’s the little boy doing... Luca, I think his name is?”

Amanda shakes her head, just a tiny soft movement, but Casey knows exactly what it means. He didn’t make it either.

“The foster mom’s in intensive care. Who knows if she’ll make it. She deserves a medal if she does - Warner says she must have thrown herself in front of the babies to protect them. Not that it did any of them any good.”

She sighs, pushing herself up from the car, and wiping her palms against her slacks.

“I’d better go back in. You coming?”

It’s a split-second decision. A part of Casey is disappointed in herself when she shakes her head.

-

Don Cragen looks about as defeated as Casey feels, barely lifting his head as he gestures for her to enter his office. She swallows down the lump in her throat as she takes a seat opposite him, automatically reaching for the manilla folder she knows he’s about to pass her way. Her fingers pause at the cover though, deciding she’s not quite ready to face the contents. Not just yet.

“We really screwed this one up,” Cragen sounds as exhausted as he looks. “I don’t know how our perps found the foster home, or how nobody stopped them from walking in and shooting the place up in broad daylight. We’ve got two dead babies and a foster mother on life-support - I can’t help but feel like we could have done something to avoid this.”

Guilt has sat heavy in her stomach from the moment Cragen called, and it only tightens as Casey nods her head, still unable to bring herself to open the crime scene photos on her lap. She’d cried in her car on the way here, and she’s sure it’s still evident on her face, in her red-rimmed eyes and smudged mascara.

“Where have they moved Ana to?” she asks, though she’s fairly certain the captain isn’t going to give her a straight answer. What if it was her who led the killer to Mrs Hernandez? What if she caused those two babies to lose their lives?

“She’s safe,” Don tells her, his expression softening. “She’s somewhere they won’t find her.”

Casey nods, tears threatening at her eyes again. “Is she with someone who can...” her voice cracks, “...talk to her?”

“Someone who knows basic ASL went with her.”

“That’s something,” Casey murmurs.

Cragen looks at her for a long moment, and sighs, “you shouldn’t blame yourself, Casey. Don’t punish yourself for giving a damn. It’s what makes you good at what you do.”

Before she knows it, the tears have started again, and she wipes them away, feeling ashamed at crying in front of the Captain. She’s ashamed of crying in front of anybody, but especially him.

“But if I hadn’t visited...” she croaks.

“...then that little girl would have been completely alone in a silent world where nobody could communicate with her. None of us could have known this would happen,” he pauses, leans across the desk to put a hand on her shoulder, “you should know, she asked for you. It was difficult to send her away without letting you say goodbye.”

Casey nods, wiping at her face, her whole body bobbing with her head. Eventually, she clears her throat, gathers her bag and the files, and gets to her feet.

“I’m going to review these at my office. Give me a call if you need me.”

-


End file.
